Professional Silence
by RedFireLight
Summary: In the hunt for Saren, unlikely allies are surprised when they, somewhat unwillingly, become something more. Rating subject to change--M/M.
1. Coming To

A/N: Don't own Mass Effect, etc

* * *

It shouldn't have happened. There was just too much at stake. You couldn't risk being distracted in the middle of a firefight, focusing too much on someone's back, instead of on the incoming ordinance, on the numbers of hostiles still waiting behind cover until you dropped your guard. That was when mistakes were made. And when the stakes were so high, risks like that just couldn't be taken.

It shouldn't have happened. Regulations said so. People said so. Cultures said so. Every instinct of a well-oiled crew said that this was wrong.

And yet, somehow, here they were.

One of them blamed the drinks that night back when they'd had a few days of research-inspired peace. The distance between the members of the crew—that they were the only ones who seemed to be on speaking terms lately. It was only natural they would gravitate to one another in inebriation. What happened… happened. It was an accident. They shouldn't continue.

The other doesn't blame a thing. They work well together. They were friends. Though it was true they only ones who actually spoke without deteriorating into bickering like petty children. They were close. Was it really just an accident? Why shouldn't they continue?

"Because… you… And I…"

"Yeah, I know."

"And--"

"And I'm okay with that."

"I… need some time to think about… about everything."

"Don't walk away like that."

"Give me some time. All right?"

"Do we have it?"

"I need to think about this. I don't… I don't understand _this._ How can you be so… comfortable?"

"I'm just not…. I'm not that bothered by it, I guess. It wasn't that big a deal anyway."

"It was for me."

"Look… I don't want to force you… Just… do think about it, all right?"

They didn't broach the subject again. Neither one brought it up. They maintained a professional distance—one not wanting to push the other. If the crew noticed the sudden lack of communication, they failed to comment. When summoned for missions together, they kept up the unspoken code of professional silence.

But it just couldn't, and didn't last.

* * *

Not one of them had a good feeling about this. They couldn't ignore a distress call, but even so, this seemed like a strange place to find one.

"What sort of medical team takes up residence on a volcano-ridden rock?"

From the driver's seat, Shepard chuckled, casting a glance back over his shoulder at the other two. "Good question," he said lightly. "We'll find out, I'm sure."

"It can't possibly be anything good."

They disembarked beside a large depression in the ground, moving cautiously in formation, attention divided between their surroundings, and the heat warnings flashing impatiently in the HUDs of their hardsuits. The temperature was tolerable for now, but stay out longer than your readout indicated, and you were in trouble. Even more so if you had a breach. Overall, it would have been far safer to stay inside the mako, but the nature of the mission made that impossible.

Taking a few steps into the crater, the trio eyed the crashed remains of a probe dubiously. It had been people they were searching for, not technology. Unease prickled the backs of necks, and weapons were cautiously unfolded. Bright orange flared to the right and left of the Spectre, as his team activated their omni-tools. Bringing two of the tech experts suddenly seemed like less of a passing whim, and more of a "good idea." If the oddity of the situation defeated the combined efforts of both Alenko and Vakarian, Shepard was of a mind to simply get the hell out.

"I don't get it. This is the spot…" Alenko mused, glancing up from the holographic interface. "These are the coordinates we were given. Where's the medical team?"

"I'm not seeing any signs of battle," Vakarian chimed in. He'd swapped out his omni-tool for sniper rifle, and now used the scope to sight along the far edges of the crater. "No blast marks, no bodies… There's a shuttle, but not much else. No sign of life anywhere."

The unease turned into full-blown suspicion. Hands tightened around weapons, muscles tensing beneath the ceramic and synthetic weave of the hardsuits. "Back to the mako," Shepard said. He didn't take his eyes off the crater, even as he backed with measured steps towards the parked rover. There was no other cover in sight. Then again, nor were their scanners picking up any hostiles.

And then the air around them all but exploded in a hail of fire and shrapnel. The three men ducked instinctively, weapons snapping to attention, and biotic coronas flaring to life as the sleek synthetic shapes darted in. Orders crackled to life over the radios as the trio continued their retreat to the cover of their rover. Where the rocket-launching drones had come from, no one could tell. Nor did it matter. For the moment, all their minds were focused on was getting out alive.

The orange glow of an omni-tool blinked up, swiftly followed by the drone nearest Alenko crashing pitifully into the ground, its shields decimated. Even as the two biotics threw back the worst of the encroaching geth. It seemed, for a moment, that the squad was gaining the upper hand. They had to be fast—pick up the pace—as the time was quickly running out for the hardsuit heat tolerance.

"Armature incoming!"

Despite the shout, there was no time to guard against the incoming fire. Kinetic shields went down fast, biotic barriers faring better, but wearing down under the slender white construct's constant barrage. Returning fire at this distance was all but futile, considering the shields on the armature. The mako's cannon was far more suited to taking it down, and the squad sprinted the final few yards to the rover.

It was only then they noticed the problem. As the only member of the squad lacking biotics, Vakarian's shields had tanked faster than the others'. He was on the ground, a smoking, bloodied hole torn through his hardsuit, straight into the flesh of his bony hip. Shepard motioned Alenko forward, scrambling into the mako to lay down cover fire for his men. Without a word, the biotic charged after the turian, who was somehow staggering to his feet. There wasn't any time to think. The first hints of a migraine had begun to slowly work their way into Alenko's skull, and his hardsuit display was already flashing warnings about the heat.

He grabbed his teammate's narrow waist, throwing the turian's arm over his shoulders. An omni-tool flickered, then shorted and died. "Knocked out," he heard the low murmur as Vakarian's longer strides pushed them both forward on his good leg. He didn't answer, just kept moving, throwing one last, fading barrier up in hopes of doing his squadmate's failed shields some good.

The explosive _crack_ of the mako's main cannon was the most blessed sound the two had heard all day. There was no time to stand back and appreciate the show, however. The tank was a sitting duck with an armature pounding away at it—and one man alone couldn't get the thing rolling and shooting. Feeling Vakarian's stride falter, Alenko all but hauled them both inside, giving the all-clear only once the hatch was secured.

"Stabilize him, and get your ass up in the turret!" Shepard barked, dropping down into the driver's seat. He didn't say another word, just wrenched the wheel and kicked the rover into gear, the sudden motion throwing the two unseated men sideways.

Swearing quietly, Alenko went to work, applying pressure and medigel to the ragged hole, until the bleeding slowed to a trickle of blue between his fingers. Taking off the hardsuit required a more stable environment, such as the _Normandy's_ medbay, and hands more experienced than his with alien physiology. Vakarian didn't move throughout the procedure, just tensed whenever the other man's hands came in contact with him. It was odd enough to get his attention. He'd never known the turian to be particularly touchy about physical contact, which led him to believe there was more than just the visible wound.

He straightened a little, having propped Vakarian up against the center console to work, and checked pupil dilation, and vitals. It was when his hand came away from checking the pulse under his squadmate's throat, that, unexpectedly, his hand was captured, and pulled closer. Labored breathing was in his ear, Vakarian's—Garrus'—head resting lightly against the side of his own.

"… Soldiers don't have time," came the odd voice—the low, growling tone overlaid with one he could actually understand. "I've thought enough."

For a moment, everything stopped—the hail of gunfire outside, the rock and jolt of the rover, everything but that voice, and that touch. It was warmer than he remembered, warmer than he'd thought it would be. He swallowed, knowing they didn't have time for this now, but took the moment anyway, pulling enough away to meet the pale eyed stare. The questions he wanted to ask suddenly wouldn't come. As if, asking them would bring the world back down on them.

"And?"

The alien face flicked in what had to be a tired, pained smirk. "You're a smart man, Alenko. You already know the answer."

Briefly, he squeezed the hand that still held his tight. "Yeah, guess I do."

Just as expected, the moment passed, and once again, he was a soldier, hauling himself up into the turret. There would be more words later. There always were.


	2. Foot Fetish

It had been an excruciatingly long day

It had been an excruciatingly long day. With no leads for the moment, the _Normandy_ had been roaming the systems, surveying planets, sending data back to Alliance brass for the proper filing, mining, and whatever else they did with newly discovered resources. It should have been a peaceful time, when the crew could recuperate, and get a much needed few days without being under a constant barrage of gunfire and geth shelling.

The key there being the phrase "should have".

Instead of relaxing, or even continuing his usual tinkering with the mako's constantly irritable stabilizers, he'd hauled himself up to the mess for a much needed meal and some semblance of downtime. It felt, to him, like a waste of time, to be floating around the galaxy, collecting data, when Saren was still out there. But he was in really no position to question command. For the most part, he was alone, brooding over a half-empty cup. One or two of the crew lingered as well, though they kept well apart from him. Which was fine, really. There was nothing he needed, or wanted, to say to them. And they more than likely felt the same way. Odd, how they let the quarian survey their drive core, but how dare the turian impose himself on their mess hall?

"Coffee can't be that bad, can it?"

Startled, he looked up, surprise giving way to relief as he met dark, warm eyes. "It's not coffee," he said, offhand. His free hand indicated the empty chair across from him.

"That wasn't really the point."

A flicker of what could have counted as a smile. "I know."

Chuckling to himself, Alenko dropped down into the proffered chair, his eyes now on his tray. "What's on your mind?" he asked, the words still perfectly clear, even around the mouthful. "You look like someone just kicked your puppy—" Here, the lieutenant paused, glancing up to meet Garrus' stare of incomprehension. "You look upset," he clarified, smiling.

Draining his cup, the other man snorted. "You could have just said that," he retorted, but without malice.

"One of these days, Garrus," Alenko cut in, waving his fork threateningly. "I'm buying you an encyclopedia for that kind of thing. Beats the hell out of explaining every other phrase."

"Why do that, when you obviously enjoy taking the time to explain?" Garrus quipped, leaning back in his chair. The tilt of his head suggested a raised eyebrow—if he'd had any.

Another chuckle, this one lower, more fond-sounding. "Because there's a lot of other things I enjoy more when it involves you," he said.

Then, as if suddenly embarrassed, he looked back down at his food, abruptly shoving something into his mouth and effectively silencing himself. Fortunately for him, Garrus wasn't any better at hiding his feelings on the subject of less-than-subtle flirting. But instead of looking away, the turian sat forward again, leaning on the tabletop, arms folded.

"Such as?" he asked, the alien planes of his face completely impassive, as usual.

Alenko nearly swore. Damn, he was hard to read. Even his voice was hard to really glean any useful cues from half the time. But then again… he'd seemed willing enough back on Metgos… Shrugging casually, the lieutenant stretched his legs out under the table, booted toes resting casually up against his companion's ankle. When Garrus failed to respond, he ran his foot slowly up the armored calf, as best he could in army-issue footwear. He wasn't sure how much of the touch would translate through C-Sec standard body armor, but it was worth a shot.

Something recognizable sparked in pale blue eyes—which then blinked. Several times. "Oh," was all he said, sounding as surprised as he looked. Then realization dawned. "_Oh_," he said again, almost laughing, and shaking his head.

Having not been asked to stop, Alenko continued trailing the toe of his boot up and down Garrus' leg, getting as far as the top of his knee before he couldn't stretch any further. No one else was paying attention to them. And by now, they'd gained a reputation on the _Normandy_ as little more than friends—technologically skilled friends. No one would think them sitting together odd—which gave him plenty of time to tease the answers out of the turian. Shifting forward in his seat, he managed to inch his toe up past the knee, drawing it slowly back down the inner thigh. He felt a shiver, even though the tough leather, and grinned.

"I'd say that's more fun than explaining 'cat got your tongue'," he said.

"What is?"

Both men froze, glancing in the direction of the intruding voice, before hurriedly moving their legs and feet out of incriminating proximity. Garrus found his voice first, although his eyes remained fixed on the tabletop.

"Salvaging probes on uncharted worlds, Commander," he said hastily, although he didn't stammer. Alenko wasn't sure he'd have sounded so calm. "The lieutenant is getting tired of pausing to explain humanisms every few minutes…"

Without prompting, Commander Shepard himself dropped into the chair beside Alenko, looking tired, but still interested in what his crewmen were saying. It was his usual expression. "Maybe we should find you a dictionary," he said wryly, a smirk on his scar-cut features. "You'd be a quick study, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Commander."

And from there, the topic swung widely into a discussion on the latest assignment from the Fifth Fleet. Most of the crew was in agreement on the subject of Hackett and his bizarre interest in the commander and his group—weren't there Alliance agents capable of handling some of these problems? Or at least, someone who wasn't chasing down a rogue Spectre bent on galactic-wide genocide? Since the sentiments echoed his own thoughts keenly, Garrus' attention began to wander, especially when the nature of the mission was disclosed. Something about biotics, something he knew next to nothing about.

So, half forgotten, and with a pair of decidedly wandering eyes, he found his mind focused completely on the lieutenant, nodding politely along with the commander, and offering his opinion when so asked. He didn't look bored, but didn't look particularly pleased either.

"_Like someone kicked your puppy..." _

Well. It was only fair he returned the favor, considering Alenko's gesture had left him in a very different mood than before. However, unlike his crewmate, he was faced with a problem. There was not one, but two men seated before him, and thus, four legs. Looking under the table would give everything away in a second. Snaking out a long leg, he made a blind guess, and ran a clawed foot carefully across what he hoped was Alenko's right leg.

There was no response from the lieutenant. He tried again, only to be rewarded with more frustration. What was he doing wrong? It was the same motions. Was Alenko just hiding it? His answer came when he moved his foot higher up on the leg.

Abruptly, Shepard cut off midsentence, a look of complete and utter confusion plastered on his face. He glanced downwards, then back up at the turian across the table, who could only stare open-mouthed in a sort of dumbfounded shock. For his part, Alenko glanced between them, then pressed a hand to his temples, his expression hidden in his palm. The three sat frozen like that for a long moment, until finally, Shepard cleared his throat, standing awkwardly.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, Garrus," he said formally. "I think you need to stop asking Joker about what is and what isn't an appropriate form of showing respect for your commanding officer…"

His head dropping down into his arms, Garrus mumbled an affirmative, refusing to meet Shepard's eyes. He didn't look up until the man was long retreated back into the safety of the CIC. And when Alenko burst out laughing, he made sure to look under the table before giving the lieutenant a swift kick in the shins.


	3. Mechanics

A/N: I'm not happy with how this ended. Maybe I'll go back and fix it sometime. Either way, it was standing in the way of the rest of the story, and it had to be churned out.

* * *

"Maybe I can help."

A muffled grunt, followed by the clang of some unidentifiable tool against an armored hull. That was all the response he got. Sighing, Alenko massaged his temples, feeling a migraine that, for once, had nothing to do with implants and biotics, coming on. This migraine came in the form of one very stubborn, very spiky, alien crewmate.

They worked so well together on missions, always had, and now, since their little "affair"—even though he couldn't rightfully call it that just yet—they were even closer, a much more cohesive team. Both of them worked better together than they did with any other member of the crew, even Shepard. Both of them knew that, and appreciated it, offering help and advice in the areas they knew best. However, none of this bonding, none of the more intimate parts of their slow-going relationship would change one simple fact that frustrated Kaiden Alekno to no end.

Garrus was ridiculously obsessed with the damn mako.

He was always tinkering with it, working on it. Every spare moment when they could have been talking, or doing things more attractive to a lonely, bored biotic than just chatting, he was down there, his head either buried in the engine, or rerouting the stabilizers _again_. He shunned any and all help, even from Tali, who by virtue of her heritage, probably knew more about the rover than he did. And it drove Alenko up a wall to the point which he suddenly sympathized with every girlfriend who had ever been ignored for a muscle car, or other motor vehicle.

"I'm not sure how I feel about being the woman in this relationship," he muttered ruefully, leaning against the readout console, arms folded over his chest.

"Excuse me?"

He couldn't help but smirk as a grease-covered turian abruptly slid out from under the mako, glowering up at him indignantly. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, just thinking out loud." He pushed off the console to crouch beside Garrus, more or less level with the other man's head. "I can't help but feel like you're cheating on me here," he added, all mock-seriousness. "How can I compete with top of the line Alliance technology?"

Garrus' jaw worked in what Alenko could only call a scowl. "I'm fixing it, not sleeping with it," he mumbled, the sides of his face—what were those things anyway?—flaring out. He made to slide back under the machine, but the lieutenant caught his hip, holding him firmly in place before slowly tugging him back out again.

"Not a whole lot of sleeping going on anywhere," Alenko responded mildly, raising an eyebrow.

The scoff that followed needed no translation. "This is a mission, Lieutenant," Garrus informed him, still lying on the board. "Not a cruise. We're here to do a job not…" An awkward pause, complete with facial twitching. "Not each other."

"I don't want to rush things here, you know that… I'm just trying to make sure I'm not playing a poor second to a hunk of steel."

Really, he was teasing. Far be it from him to try and have a serious conversation without at least throwing in a few lighthearted remarks. Especially with a person like this. So he was rather unprepared when Garrus suddenly sat up, his face coming within inches of Alenko's. The lieutenant promptly lost his balance, catching himself only by grasping the other side of the turian's hips, effectively, and decidedly accidentally, straddling him with his arms. Both of them paused, eyes on the wayward human hand.

"I had something a little more… subtle… in mind," Garrus admitted, looking back up. "But if that's the way you want it done…"

Baffled by the sudden uncharacteristic change, Alenko just stared back at pale blue eyes. "What happened to doing the mission, not each other?"

By some unspoken agreement, both looked around the empty bay. No one, not even the requisitions officer, was around. Given they were docked in the Citadel for resupply, the chances of anyone actually turning up in the next few hours was slim to none. And while Garrus had a very good point, and while there were countless regs to think of… that offer was far more tempting than it should have been. They both knew what was most important right now—their mission, stopping Saren, saving the galaxy. Even so, if the others were taking some time to themselves, why shouldn't they? When would they get another chance? More time just to themselves?

_Soldiers don't have time…_

Apparently turians were full of damned good points. Not counting the physical.

So, against both of their better judgment, they slipped inside the mako. Sleeper pods were too public, far too small, and aside from Shepard's quarters, it was the only place out of immediate sight of the rest of the ship's inevitable prying eyes. Finding a place, however, was the easy part. Overcoming the species barrier in such intimate settings was another problem entirely.

There were a few awkward questions, some fumbling, and numerous long pauses in which both men sat back, looking one another over, until finally it was resolved that nothing would happen unless they could actually see what it was they were going to be working with.

Having by far the more complicated uniform, Garrus went first, but only after Alenko reassured him, several times, that the hatch was securely locked. And even then, as pieces of the lightweight, blue and black body armor came off, he still turned away. The lieutenant held down a laugh. Self-consciousness was the last thing he'd expected from the other man. Maybe over-confidence, but never reservation about himself, given how open he usually was during their various chats. So, on his part, he didn't say anything, just studied scaled hide as it was slowly, awkwardly revealed to him in the mako's dim interior. Hell of a lot different than what he was used to, Alenko mused. But who ever said different was a bad thing?

His back still to the lieutenant, Garrus took a deep breath, bare shoulders rising. "Your turn," he murmured, head bowed.

There was something intimate in its own right about this—instead of feeling like a kids' game of "show you mine, show me yours". And yet, there was still an overall air of awkward feeling, despite the equal amounts of curious attraction. It quickly became apparent that neither of them were going to make the first move, and so, contrary to his usual nature, Alenko moved first, fingers seeking the scales between plates, his mouth to the space under the turian's chin. Countless instances of pulse-checking had revealed that spot to be more sensitive, thinner-skinned. Apparently it worked, for the spiked head tilted back, and from there, neither one of them was really aware of anything else but each other, as cheesy as they later decided that description sounded.

What they did remember was, in fact, a few very important facts: that turian hips made for excellent leverage, especially when used against the center console. That it was the first time Alenko's first name was ever uttered by his alien teammate.

And that Ashley Williams' voice from outside the mako's hatch was the very last thing one wanted to awaken to afterwards.


	4. Pep Talk

A/N: This took a really weird turn.

* * *

"_What do you think you're doing here?"_

"_It's not your problem, Chief Williams." _

"_This is a mission—an Alliance ship. There are regs like you wouldn't believe."_

"_We're both aware I'm not part of the Alliance military. I'm here under—"_

"_You're here by the grace of God and Shepard liking your hand with a rifle, Vakarian." _

"_The Commander doesn't need to be involved in this."_

"_He does if you screwing the LT is going to get in the way of stopping Saren."_

Kaidan Alenko wanted nothing more than to sink into the deck, and vanish from sight. Instead, he was resigned to sitting on the edge of the drop ramp in the engineering bay. In his opinion, it should be him over there getting his ass chewed out by the Chief, and not Garrus, considering she was probably more likely to listen to a member of her own species than a turian. Then again, she'd seemed perfectly willing to tear his head off. But when Garrus had stepped up, she'd actually holstered her rifle. Skilled soldier or no, there was just something a little more intimidating about a tall, spiky alien staring you down than a fellow human being.

They were standing at Williams' station, out of earshot of most of the lower deck, except the anxious lieutenant. As soon as she'd discovered them, she'd started up her tirade, and for a moment, both men had been struck dumb. Then, like a man used to dealing with confrontations, Garrus had taken her aside, somewhat more forcefully than Alenko had been expecting. But, to his credit, Garrus was so far keeping his head, his voice pitched quiet metallic over Williams' heated one. He wasn't missing anything that Alenko could see, and his counterarguments were perfectly rational ones. There was a sudden, unexpected surge of pride. So much for the hothead described by his co-worker, Alenko thought, a faint, pleasant smirk on his face. He just wished they weren't having this discussion at all.

"She's got no room to talk."

Distracted by eavesdropping, the sudden, rumbling voice nearly sent him jumping straight out of his skin. He turned, trying to recover from the surprise, and was met with a gravely chuckle. "Wrex," he all but groaned, massaging aching temples. A migraine was all he needed…

"Alenko," replied the krogan amiably enough. His massive bulk was reclined comfortably up against one of the support beams, and red eyes flicked between the argument, and the biotic. The expression on his face was either a snarl or a smirk—but how any expression with so many teeth showing could be anything but threatening, Alenko didn't know. "How the hell do you people keep missing me? Am I really that stealthy?"

He shook his head. "About as stealthy as the mako when the Commander's having a bad day," he answered, in a similar tone.

That same grating laugh. Wrex was in a good mood, apparently. Alenko suddenly wondered whose broken legs he had to thank for that. "I like you, Alenko," the krogan rumbled. "You got a sense of humor in there. Sometimes. Could almost get used to having you around."

"Yeah, well don't get too comfortable," the lieutenant sighed. He was rubbing his temples, trying to stave off the tension and frustration as Williams' voice rose in volume from the corner.

Wrex only grunted, tilting his huge head to regard the human. "Because you got laid?" he asked. "I can kind of understand where she's coming from on this, Alenko. I mean, really. He's a turian." When this failed to elicit any sort of favorable response from Alenko, Wrex sighed, the sound uncomfortably loud in the small space. He prodded the lieutenant with a foot, muttering under his breath.

Not in the mood, Alenko made a half-hearted attempt to shove the foot away, only to be hauled bodily to his feet. He blinked, unsettled by the huge krogan so close to him. Once he was standing, Wrex released him, stepping back to eye him with a predatory stare.

"You're letting her get to you."

Typical Wrex. He never asked questions. Just made statements. Before Alenko could respond, he forged on in an uncharacteristic display of verbosity.

"You're worried she's right. You're going to put the mission in jeopardy by sleeping with a crew_man_," Wrex continued. He stressed the last syllable only slightly, watching Alenko for a reaction. And when human cheeks colored faintly, he snorted, dismissing it. "So long as you don't pop up in my bunk at night, isn't my business who you want." Heavy arms folded, considering.

The silence stretched between them so long, Alenko wondered if their conversation was finished. Judging from the volume in the corner, the argument, at least, was winding down. He turned his attention back in that direction, unable to see either of their faces. Williams' was obscured by the Mako, and Garrus' broad back was to him. What was Wrex trying to say here? Sure, he being attracted to another man, an alien man at that, was something completely unexpected, and probably wouldn't go over too well back home but, honestly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. There was just the mission, just stopping Saren.

Just Garrus…

"My point is," Wrex broke in, speaking up again finally. His voice was in the background, like someone narrating. "You want to know how far duty goes with the turians? With your turian?"

Said turian was currently nodding in assent to something Williams was saying, his posture all deference. After a moment, he turned to face them again, heading in their direction, relief and triumph and something like affection in his pale eyes.

"If Shepard told him to, he'd shoot you," said Wrex. "In the back of the head if he had to. That's the kind of crap that's been drilled into his spiky head."

It was hard to believe. Even when he'd seen Garrus, back in the clinic, coolly shoot a man straight in the eye. When he'd seen how ruthless the turian was against the geth. He was a soldier first. They both were. And if necessary, Alenko realized, he'd do the same damn thing. Still though… As much as he could picture those talon-tipped hands firing round after round into advancing geth troops, he still saw them as he had earlier, trailing gentle lines across fragile human skin. As much as he had seen those pale eyes gone hard with hatred, just as easily, he saw them half-closed, expressing more affection than any face.

"Still wanna screw him?" the krogan continued, and Alenko heard, rather than saw the smirk on that big face. "Then go do it, and ignore Williams."

The whole exchange had taken only seconds. By the time Garrus reached them, Wrex had retired to his usual pose of titanic nonchalance. "I convinced her to stand down," Garrus said, his shoulders suddenly sagging. He looked exhausted, and Alenko didn't blame him. As much as he liked Williams as a fellow soldier, she could be a little trying on patience. Which was something he knew Garrus didn't exactly have to spare. "We're in the clear. But, it was like talking to a hanar… I've never been fed that much dogma and military regulations in my life…"

"I guess this means I owe you," Alenko said, grinning, despite himself. It wasn't much of a resolution… but it was something they'd have to live with. He'd tell Garrus in time. If they had it.

Garrus acted like he was about to say something, bending his head to have a better word with the lieutenant—or something else, even, but someone else cut him off.

"When you make it up to him, Alenko, make sure you do it where I can't hear him scream. It sounds like you've got two of them in there, and that's not something even I want to think about."

Face flaming, Alenko barely had the presence of mind to haul the stunned turian back to the relative safety of the elevator. Wrex's grating laugh followed them all the way.


	5. Needs

He knew the lieutenant got migraines—that the headaches required medication, quiet, and dark to recover from. He knew why they happened, when, and how. He knew the only thing he could do was sit and wait around for the fit to pass.

But what he didn't know, was how bad they could really be.

They'd just been talking, catching up and making sure they were both in one piece after the last mission. It had been tense for a while, biotic extremists in the confines of a tiny ship. And then there had been hostages… The bright coronas of barriers and even a few singularities had been dazzling, and half the time Garrus hadn't been sure which flash of dark energy had been theirs. Afterwards, Alenko had seemed subdued, not saying much, even after they returned relatively uninjured to the safety of the _Normandy_. Even when both Garrus and the commander engaged him in debriefing, he hadn't said much, and his skin had taken on a decidedly pale cast that worried the turian.

Then he'd stumbled, one hand pressed to his head, palm against his eye. He hadn't said anything, just gestured feebly in the direction of the medical bay. That had been enough. Garrus had all but carried the semi-conscious man there, and would have stayed, had Chakwas not chased him out with thinly veiled threats of dissection.

So now he waited, shifting restlessly outside the doors. He hadn't even removed the battered hardsuit yet. If he left, and it wasn't just a headache… How long did it take these things to settle down anyway? It had to just be a headache.

He wasn't even aware he'd started to pace until the doctor poked her graying head out the door to glare at him. "If you're going to worry yourself to death," she said briskly. "Do it in here where I can check you over. The commander has already been in and gone. You, are all that's left."

At first, he balked. He suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to go in. Apprehension in the face of the wounded was new for him. But this was different. This was Alenko—this was _Kaidan_. "I'm not injured," he protested, backing up a pace from the door, and the doctor. "Just scrapes, it's fine."

"If I leave you out here, you'll pace out a path in the deck," Chakwas quipped. "You're worried, so come in. He's asleep for the moment. Drugged to the teeth to take the edge off…" As she led him inside, he caught the slight shake of her head. "It's a bad one this time, I'm afraid."

The medical bay was dimly lit, only the glow from the doctor's computer and a few other monitors illuminating the space. It was quiet too, all other sounds from the ship muffled by the walls. Even as his eyes adjusted, he made out the familiar shape sprawled limply on one of the cots. His throat worked, but he followed the doctor all the same, staying quiet, and stepping lightly until she indicated he sit. She went to work, swabbing scrapes with disinfectant, checking the hardsuit readout for any breaches, ordering him to take the "damned heavy thing off and be quiet about it." Whatever she asked, he complied dimly, all his attention focused on the too-quiet body lying there with them.

This was stupid of him. He knew about the migraines. And they were soldiers besides. They would have to accept routine stays in the medical bay as a part of life. They couldn't go to pieces because of that. He had duties elsewhere, and the commander was sure to give him hell for shirking. Normally, he wouldn't have thought to do anything but the work. But… all that was fine in theory. Putting it into practice, when your teammate, and _other_, was lying there, in too much pain to be coherent… it was another matter entirely.

The chair she'd placed him in was close enough to the cot to reach out and touch the other man. However, he didn't know whether or not that would be appropriate, or welcome. He didn't know enough about the headaches for that. So, he settled for resting his hand beside Kaidan's elbow, clawed fingertips barely brushing the skin. The light touch didn't seem to register, and he sighed, both in helplessness and relief. Tentatively, he lifted his hand, and draped it loosely over the well-muscled arm, not daring to apply pressure.

How did others do it? How did they stay sane while their—he still couldn't use the right word—their "other" nearly got killed? It was something he'd never needed to ask, until now. Absently, his thumb ran gentle lines down the inside of Kaidan's wrist. The skin felt too cool.

Fraternization like this was perfectly normal, even sometimes encouraged, among his people. Not so the Alliance, Williams had angrily informed him. Several times. In fact, it was a serious offense. The last thing he wanted was to put the lieutenant's career, and anything else, in jeopardy. Ever since their encounter in the mako, that thought had been haunting him. Did it count for anything that he wasn't an Alliance soldier? Could Kaidan still be drummed up on charges for this? Could _he_?

Which opened a whole new set of problems. Namely, their respective families, should the two of them survive this war long enough to see them again. Anything regarding his military record was invariably sent back home, and that included charges of fraternization—if the Alliance pressed any. Which they very well might, considering he would probably be looked at as the instigator. Racial profiling was nothing new to him. He was the turian, the outsider. If it came down to it, the Alliance could try and swing him as the problem, not its biotic. The thought of his father's reaction sent further spikes of tension through his thin frame, until he was on the verge of a headache himself.

"He'll be all right in a few hours."

Despite himself, Garrus nearly jumped out of his scales. He hadn't even heard Chakwas move. Embarrassed, he looked up at her, his mandibles flexing in an odd sort of expression.

To her credit, Chakwas took it in stride, ignoring him long enough to check Kaidan's vitals, before nodding, and returning her attention to him. "He usually comes around sooner than most L2s under this strain," she said, her voice quiet for the sake of the patient. "A long rest, where everything is calm and quiet usually calms him down relatively quickly." Her eyes raked him. "And everything includes you, Vakarian. You'll do him no good hovering like that and worrying yourself sick."

"I'm fine…"

"Spare me lovesick turians. You're worse than Chief Williams."

How had she…? Did the whole _crew_ know? This was even worse than he'd imagined. And all his fault. If he hadn't pushed to take things further, none of this would be an issue. For all his arguing and bargaining with the gunnery chief, it didn't seem to have mattered. It had still gotten out. He suddenly felt sick.

Apparently oblivious to his sudden panic, the doctor was forging on, lecturing him in the same hard undertone she'd used before. "You haven't gotten any rest since the mission, have you? Even the commander has managed to log some downtime."

Numbly, he shook his head, too stunned to lie to her. He should leave. He should break this off altogether. What good was what they had, if in the end Kaidan would wind up on charges? And it would all be on his head. He couldn't do that to him.

"I'll go," he said quietly, causing the doctor to raise an eyebrow. "You're right… this isn't healthy."

But before he could stand and take his leave, fingers closed around his wrist. He looked down, surprised. Kaidan had shifted slightly, firmly holding onto him, and had cracked open an eye to look upwards. He was smirking, faintly. "Five more minutes," he murmured. "Think it's helping. You being here."

Had he been human, Garrus would have turned an interesting shade of pink. As it stood now, he ducked his head, avoiding eye contact. Chakwas had pointedly turned away, busying herself at the computer. How was he supposed to leave now? In fact, how was he supposed to put any distance between them when the lieutenant—when Kaidan—looked at him like that? When he all but spelled out how much he needed this.

His head bowed forward, forehead resting on the cot beside Kaidan. He felt the other man's hand on the back of his head, tracing the thickened plates. In return, he rested a proprietary hand on Kaidan's chest, feeling the slow inhalations. What was he supposed to do…? Just when they finally found a way to put Saren out of their heads for a minute—just long enough to get their spirits back up and forge on ahead against the geth, asari commandos, and whatever else the universe threw at them—they had to stop. Everything was too important for this to get in the way. Even if Kaidan needed him.

_But,_ he thought bitterly. _I need him too, damn it…_


	6. Working Relationship

It was, officially, the smallest apartment Kaidan had ever seen. It felt downright crowded with just two people standing in it. How anyone could live in such a confining space, he had no idea. Except, it didn't look like much actual living was done in this place. Aside from furniture, there were no personal items, nothing on the walls, the floors, anywhere. It had an empty, utilitarian feel completely at odds with the person living in it.

He glanced over at Garrus, who was obliviously seated on the edge of the narrow bed, going though the long process of removing his usual uniform for something more comfortable. "Are you sure you live here?" he asked. "I mean it's…"

"Not exactly what you were expecting?" Garrus finished for him. He was amused, more than anything, wearing an expression that could really only be called a smirk.

"Well, yeah."

The turian shook his head, rising, and moving to a previously-unnoticed cabinet. "I was never really here much," he admitted, back to the other man. "Always on duty, or working late… it's not really a 'home' so much as it was somewhere to sleep every once in a while." As he explained, he was taking out neatly folded clothing, to Kaidan's disappointment, doing up the clasps with a sort of distracted ease. "Plus, it's cheap, but not in bad condition."

"I thought C-sec paid pretty well," Kaidan said, hitching a hip up on the narrow desk, mindful of the faintly glowing PC.

Almost immediately, he knew he'd said something wrong. Garrus' shoulders tensed briefly, and the soft _tap_ of a turian jaw working was audible in the quiet. It passed quickly. By the time he turned around to face Kaidan again, Garrus' expression was back to its usual impassive expression. "It did," he said simply, leaning against the wall.

There was no stress on the past tense—it was there all the same. Kaidan felt like kicking himself. As far as he knew, Garrus had no regrets about leaving the force for Shepard's squad, but obviously something still bothered him. Finances, maybe. He doubted anyone else on the _Normandy's_ multi-racial crew had the same problem—Garrus was the only one who had basically uprooted his entire life to join the cause. In Kaidan's mind, that would leave a lot of loose ends. But unless this place was a lot more expensive than it appeared, the turian was probably set for a good while still. Something else then.

_And just how are you going to get an answer by just staring at him?_

"What's on your mind?" he asked gently, crossing the short distance between them. Without much thought, he had Garrus peeled off the wall, settling both of them on the edge of the bed.

Surprisingly enough, it took some time before he got his answer. Garrus' head had tilted one way, then the other, before resolutely staring down at the floor. "I haven't told my father," he admitted. "That I quit, that I'm reapplying for the Spectre training, about you… anything. Half the crew knows and my family is still oblivious."

He started to say something about being in no hurry to enlighten his own family, but decided that would probably just make him sound ashamed. And that wasn't exactly why he'd stayed quiet—nor was it what Garrus needed to hear. He reached over, resting a hand on the other man's back, tracing scales and plates though the cloth while he mulled over how to respond to that. "If you're not ready," he began, thinking out loud. "Hey, I'm not going to make you."

Surprisingly, Garrus pulled away, not looking at him. "The crew knows," he repeated, voice flat.

Kaidan stared at him.

Fortunately, the turian needed no further prompting to continue, despite the fact he was avoiding any and all eye contact with the other man. "I spent a lot of my life working for the law," he said. "I know there are regulations. _Alliance_ regulations," he added, for clarification. "You're a biotic, and a fine soldier, I don't want to be the thing that ruins your career—that gets you called up on charges."

"You want to drop everything," Kaidan said finally, still staring. It should have been a question. Somehow, he couldn't make himself do it. "Because of the regulations."

Honestly, part of him was glad this was the problem. He wanted to laugh a little. Garrus had been distant lately, preoccupied with something that Kaidan thought had nothing to do with Saren, or with the constant repairs to the mako. Turned out, he was right. He didn't pull or turn away. Instead, he put his hand back on the turian's back, applying just enough pressure to inform the other man he was going nowhere. It seemed to be working. Garrus didn't voice another complaint, just nodded, studiously examining his talons. Sighing slightly, Kaidan covered the scaled hands with his, forcing Garrus to look up at him.

"Alliance regs are for Alliance personnel," he said firmly. "And, last I checked, you weren't Alliance. We're both working under Shepard, yeah. But he's a Spectre. Regular rules don't apply—both of us know that."

Garrus looked like he wanted to protest, so Kaidan forged on, not giving him space to say a word.

"There's no regs against fraternizing outside of the Alliance," he said. "Otherwise I'm pretty sure I wouldn't exist.

"The Chief…" Garrus cut in. But once again, he was cut off.

"Williams has her own fraternization problems. She doesn't have a right to judge this—us." A smile—sort of sad, and curious. "I don't know how things work with your people, Garrus, but… this… we'll be just fine." He squeezed taloned hands briefly. "You need to trust me."

It was a long time before Garrus responded. For a while, Kaidan worried he'd lost him. As much as they cared about each other, there were still times where he wondered if he really ever reached the turian at all. Or if there would always be parts of that alien mind kept apart from him. He just wished Garrus was easier to read than this. The last thing he wanted was this problem to grow into a real distance between them.

"Garrus…"

It was Kaidan's turn to be cut off. "I'm a stubborn man," Garrus said, sighing himself. Tension drained out of him. "I… don't intend to let go any time soon. Alliance regs or no." Pale eyes flicked up to meet dark. "I lose you enough to migraines as it is. I hate that…"

A slow grin worked its way onto Kaidan's face. "I think the Thorian sort of proved we're both harder to kill than that," he teased gently.

The answering expression on the otherwise stoic turian face informed Kaidan that his fears of reaching Garrus were unfounded. "I'm not sure," he said. "Your ribs begged to differ."

Just like that, the distance was gone. Neither one of them needed to agree on the trust issue. It was unspoken—agreed on in that instant of teasing and rebuttal. Encouraged, Kaidan leaned forward, his head resting against Garrus', the grin still plastered on his face. "They're fine now," he said.

The light in pale turian eyes could only be described as challenging. "Prove it."

Well then. Kaidan Alenko was not a man to ignore a challenge.

He knew where to go this time, and right away sought the thinner, softer scales at the throat. Predictably, Garrus' head listed sideways, his hands coming up to grip Kaidan's shoulders, holding both of them in place before sliding down to fumble with the hem of the other man's shirt. Kaidan had more difficulty getting the myriad of clasps that made up turian civvies undone, but he liked to think he made up for taking his time in other ways. Clothing was, if not rapidly, but teasingly shed, and somehow, lacking human features was not an issue. Especially when Kaidan's were applied so liberally to exposed scales and plates. The light touch of talon became just as enjoyable, just as sought after.

They'd found themselves sprawled on the bed by now, Kaidan straddling turian hips, glad of the other's higher body temperature. It did not stay like that long, as, in a sudden, unexpected motion, Garrus had him pinned, taking control. Voices rose and fell, thankfully muffled by the blank apartment walls, and for once in a long time, all there was to the world was skin on scale.

It stayed that way, even when they were spent, and lay in the hopelessly tangled-up bedcovers, breathing. Kaidan's cheek had found a comfortable niche on Garrus' chest, propped between two overlapping plates, and one of his hands rested protectively across the turian's abdomen, covering minute, bisecting breaks marking the scars every soldier carried with them. For his part, Garrus' chin seemed delighted to stay buried in Kaidan's shoulder, despite the weird angle it kept his head at. His arm had snaked around to prop the human up.

"We're due back on board in an hour," Kaidan finally murmured, breaking the silence.

Garrus growled faintly, his only other response to nestle more firmly against his lieutenant. He seemed perfectly happy to stay there, until Kaidan sat up, moving drowsily for his discarded uniform. Only then did he groan, and manage to haul himself reluctantly to his feet. "You'd think the Council would be kind enough to give us more than six hours' notice to ship out," he grumbled, making for the closet calling itself a bathroom.

"Saren's still out there," Kaidan reminded him, staring up at the ceiling in dismay. How the hell had one of his socks landed up there? "Council got word on a better lead."

"Really?" came the muffled question. Water was running. "Is it a good one?"

Kaidan only shrugged, climbing up on the bed to grasp in vain for his wayward article of clothing. "I'm not sure," he said.

"All I know is, Shepard's being sent somewhere called Virmire."


	7. Three Words

[A/N: Shortest chapter ever. Didn't feel like it needed to be longer than this though…]

* * *

This wasn't how it was supposed to end. It wasn't supposed to go so horribly wrong like this. They were supposed to end up back on the ship, debriefing, moving on to the next lead, the next mission—together. They'd been joking about taking leave here after the war, after Saren was finished. Just the two of them. One of them had wondered aloud if there was a reason there was a drink called "sex on the beach", while the other blushed. There had been more plans, more promises made, and one quick, heated goodbye before they went to their duties. Everything was supposed to work out.

But here he was, crouched in the mud and silt of a shallow pool, shields long since depleted, more than a few holes punched into his hardsuit, and the vulnerable flesh beneath, defending a bomb that would kill them all if he failed.

At least one of them had to make it out of here alive. He wasn't listening to the voice shouting over his comm. If he did, if he heard the fear, the panic, he was going to give in. He had to tune it out, even if, at the back of his mind, he savored every word. There was blood leaking down his chest now, running red over places where careful talons hadn't left so much as a scratch. He couldn't dwell on that, couldn't think—he just had to keep shooting until his hand went numb and his body finally gave out on him.

"_Kaidan, please. We're coming. We'll get there. Just hang on. We can save you both, we'll get you out of there—please just hold on." _

It was the same desperate litany he'd been tuning out for a long time now, and with parts of him breaking down, he couldn't believe it any more. His knees buckled, driving him down into murky water. Voice breaking, he finally responded to the pleading voice on the other end.

"Garrus…"

A beat of silence that stretched too long.

"_I'm here. I'm here, I can hear you—we're coming, I swear—"_

Kaidan's cracked lips just twitched, trying to smile. So much to say. But he heard the enemy closing in, he could hear chatter on the other end—moving out, no time to go back, stubborn, alien, beloved refusal. With supreme effort, he raised his voice.

"I love you."

_So damn trite. _

He switched off the comm. Switched it off, and silenced the confused, frantic denial on the other end. It had to have been enough. One last time, he raised his weapon. He never would have been forgiven if he'd died so vulnerably. Damned stubborn, devoted turian… he'd understand—he'd have to. Duty first. Only then, did he feel the faint tears in his eyes.

_I'm sorry. _

And then the nuke blew, scorching the world in red and fire, drowning out a distant scream.


End file.
